


Glass Half Empty (Glass Half Full)

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bartender AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The last place Annie thought she’d be spending her twenty-second birthday was in the men’s bathroom of The Ballroom bar cleaning up Santa Claus’s vomit. Her manager, Gary, had offered her a wry smile and a mop as he escorted the inebriated mall worker off the premises, calling it an ‘official’ welcome to her new job. A nice basket of cookies would have been more her preference – but her festive friend had already blown that option in more ways than one. Still, Annie mused as she scrubbed down the cracked white tiles, wrinkling her nose at the smell, she was grateful to have a job at all considering her next best option was ‘sexologist’ at the delightfully named Dildopolis. Now _that_ would have been fun for prospective employers to discover on her resume.

The restroom door suddenly swung open and Annie flattened herself against the wall to avoid collision, just as a tall man in an expensive business suit staggered in. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her, blinking slowly before taking a step back. “Milady,” he drawled, tipping an imaginary hat her way. “This could just be the scotch talking, but last time I checked the women’s bathroom didn’t have urinals.”

“Good observation,” she replied, humoring him. “I’m just cleaning up.” She nodded towards the mop bucket at her feet with a small smile. “Although I assumed the props would have been pretty self-explanatory.”

He grinned back at her, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I don’t know, I thought I might have accidentally joined the line for Cinderella auditions. Didn’t want to make _that_ mistake again.”

Annie chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew it probably wasn’t the wisest idea to attempt any flirting with a patron on her first night (and a drunk one at that) but he was already showing signs of being her type. Nice smile, broad shoulders, witty…

“What’s say I meet you in the ladies’ room in five and we can make some magic happen before you disappear at midnight?” he added with a wink.

… And he was kind of a douche. Sadly, from her dating track record, apparently also her type. But not anymore she resolutely thought as a pink blush tinted her cheeks. That was twenty-one-year-old Annie. Twenty-two-year-old Annie made smart choices and didn’t let herself get swayed by a handsome face. “Wow, _super_ tempting but no,” she replied, pushing her mop and bucket towards the door. “I’m going to head back to work now. My pumpkin carriage awaits,” she murmured as he stumbled aside to let her past.

“How about if I leave you _my_ shoe so you can find _me_ later?” he teased, offering her what he thought was a winning smile.

“I’d probably keep your footwear on if I were you,” she called over her shoulder as she exited the bathroom. “There might still be some vomit lying around.” Annie bit her cheek in amusement as a scandalized yelp rang out behind her.

“Son of a… My _wingtips_!”

Yep. She’d definitely dodged a douche-bullet there.

* * *

Jeff sank further into the cushiony booth, drumming his fingers against the side of his near-empty glass while Hammish, Hammish & Hamlin’s newest recruit, Alan Connor, boasted about his previous cases. The way the jackass was talking it was like he’d _invented_ every goddamn law, but the rest of their colleagues were completely captivated. Jeff attempted to feign interest but soon found his mind wandering to the disturbing shine of Alan’s bald head under the hanging lights of the bar. How did a man even get to that stage of follicle failure? Did he just wake up one morning, see a few chunks scattered across his pillow and decide to prematurely give up on life? Jeff self-consciously patted his own full head of hair, silently reminding himself to order more Kérastase elixir online when he got home from this celebratory horror. Because that’s what normal people do on Christmas Eve, he thought, gulping down the last of his scotch. They sit in their empty apartment and abuse their credit cards for hair products while Love Actually plays on TV for the thousandth time and the urge to punch Hugh Grant in the face continues to rise.

“… You’d have to check in with Winger on that,” Alan’s smarmy voice cut through, rousing Jeff from his wallowing. “Although maybe the old man might not be able to handle another round. He looks about ready to take a nap over there.” 

Speaking of faces to punch.

Jeff aimed a shit-eating grin the newcomer’s way. “Must be the thrilling company, Connor. Please, dazzle us with another story of how your endless charm and enviable skills brought about world peace.”

“Wing-ding, you wound me,” Alan retorted, clutching his chest before breaking into a smirk. “This is great, first week and we’ve already got the frenemy banter going on. Makes me tingle in my loins.”

Grimacing, Jeff nudged the man next to him so he could slide out of the booth. “Here’s an idea, how about I get the next round and you promise never to associate me with your groin again?”

“I don’t think I can promise that. But listen,” he said, rummaging around in his jacket pocket before taking out a small cardboard rectangle. “How about you be a pal to your new best friend and slip that brunette number behind the bar my card.” He wiggled his eyebrows and gestured to his lap. “Saint Word-That-Rhymes-With-Nick here’s gotta find out if she’s been naughty or nice.”

“Note to self: be more specific about groin-mentioning parameters,” Jeff muttered, not bothering to take the business card Alan was waving before heading to the bar.

As Jeff approached he noticed the brunette in question winced and darted her eyes around for another bartender to help her out (of which there were none) before resigning herself to plaster on an engaging smile. Not _quite_ the reception he was used to from beautiful women, but he knew how to switch on the charm to turn a situation around. There was also the odd sensation that they’d already met, although Jeff could have sworn she hadn’t worked here before tonight (his face involuntarily twitched as he weighed up the option that he was about to receive a ‘we hooked up months ago and you never called’ slap across the cheek, quickly deciding to take his chances as her big doe eyes sucked him into their orbit). 

_Shit_.

“Hey there,” he smiled, leaning against the wood panelling “Another five beers for the booth in the back corner and a Macallan neat for myself, thanks.”

The woman nodded and set about her work, forgoing any of the usual bartender and customer back-and-forth as she made sure each foamy head of beer was cut off with precision.

“Stuck working on Christmas Eve?” said Jeff, attempting to open some sort of conversational floodgate to fill in the weird awkward silence.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied, settling two of the pints onto a tray before ducking her head away with a smirk like she was entertaining a private joke. “Good observation.”

The phrase and the present company stirred up another bizarre sense of déjà vu in Jeff’s mind as he affected an even more casual lean. “Must be rough having to be away from your family on a night like this. Or your partner.”

“I could say the same for you,” she countered, pulling another beer.

“Ahh, well, you see that’s no problem because no one’s waiting for me at home.” He scratched his face with his left hand, accentuating the lack of ring. “You?”

She placed the last few beers on the tray. “I’m Jewish,” she offered, turning around to find the Macallan on the shelf behind her.

“Well that definitely explains the proclivity for working during the Christmas period.” He smiled when she found the bottle she was after and faced him, quirking her eyebrow as she opened the lid. “What?”

“Proclivity, huh?” she replied, amusement betraying her lips.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a lawyer. Words are my jam.” Jeff was glad the woman wasn’t looking at him as she poured the brown liquid; missing the cringe he was now sporting. (Words are my fucking jam? Seriously?). “Let’s strike that previous sentence from the record.” His mood lifted when he heard a faint snort in return.

“Oh yeah,” she said, placing the last glass onto the tray. “Definitely a lawyer.”

“Did I hear someone ask for a man of the law?”

Jeff felt the heavy clap on his shoulder a split second before the grating voice rang out. He sighed as Alan slipped into position beside him before leaning across the bar into the brunette’s space. “Because you’ve got America’s finest right here, babycakes.” The oily intruder held out his hand for the woman to shake. “Alan Connor, and you are… _Hopefully about to stuff my stocking if you get my drift_ ,” he finished in a not-at-all quiet aside to Jeff.

The woman’s cheeks flushed red in what Jeff took as a heady mixture of embarrassment and indignation before she shoved the tray of drinks into his colleague’s outstretched hand. “Finished with your order,” she replied with a tight smile. “Cash or card?”

Alan fumbled with the tray before setting it down next to Jeff, apparently not taking the hint as he fished around in his pocket. “Will this do?” he said with a wink, sliding his business card across to her.

Jeff watched as the woman slowly picked up the card and forced herself to look Alan directly in the eyes before she grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer below and cut it in half with a flourish. “Sorry, sir,” she said in mock sweetness. “It’s been declined.” 

“Whatever,” Alan muttered, his face clouding. “Your loss, sweetheart.” He turned unsteadily on his heel and headed towards the men’s room. 

Silently handing over his Amex to pay, Jeff couldn’t even find it in himself to bask in the glory of seeing Alan crash and burn so spectacularly. Not when he had the uncomfortable prickling under his skin that he’d just had a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future. If the patent baldness wasn’t already terrifying enough, the stink of sleaze and cheap cologne had set him over the edge. It wasn’t like Jeff didn’t know his own inflated ego ran the show a lot of the time, but surely he wasn’t as bad as _that_ entitled dickweed… Was he?

“Here you go,” the woman said tiredly, handing back his card and looking for all intents and purposes like she couldn’t wait for his little group to leave the bar. He didn’t blame her.

“Thanks,” Jeff replied, tucking the plastic away in his leather wallet before picking up the discarded tray of drinks (where Alan had managed to spill some of his scotch in his haste to abandon it – the asshole). “I’m… sorry about all that shit just then.” He watched as the woman gave him a curious look before nodding in response. Jeff was about to walk away when she collected a mop and bucket from the corner and started to wipe up a spill someone had made earlier, causing him to be struck with somewhat hazy memories. 

_Just cleaning up._

_Cinderella._

_Make some magic_.

He swore under his breath just as Alan emerged from the bathroom across the way and immediately started hitting on two blondes who walked past. 

He was officially in Club Dickweed with Alan as the reigning king. 

Jeff must have groaned a little louder than he thought because the brunette’s head immediately snapped up, her eyes catching his. She wrung her hands around the handle of the mop, deciding on whether she should engage with him again. “Everything OK?” she finally asked.

Juggling the tray with one hand, Jeff scrubbed the back of his neck. “I think I tried to hit on you in the men’s room last week, didn’t I?”

Initially taken aback by his sudden memory gain, the woman paused before giving him a wry smile. “You did,” she replied. “Pretty terribly I have to say.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out slowly. “From the little snippets I can recall, not my finest hour.” _Or day, or week, or year_ his brain sneered at him. He licked his lips, sparing another glance towards Alan, who had moved on to chatting up another small group of women, pointing eagerly towards the mistletoe hanging near the entryway.

“Nowhere near as gross as your friend over there, though,” she said evenly, following Jeff’s line of sight. “So I guess there’s that.”

“I guess there’s that,” Jeff echoed, the two of them standing awkwardly in the quiet that followed. “It won’t happen again,” he promised, feeling something strange stirring through him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Sincerity.

_Well I’ll be damned_.

“Thank you,” the woman replied, toying with the strings of her black work apron.

He knew he should head back to the booth but he couldn’t help giving her a tentative smile. “Maybe we could start from the beginning again?” he offered. “I mean, I do tend to drink here a lot and I’d hate for you to keep referring to me in your head as the drunk bathroom bastard.”

Jeff could see her size him up, mentally calculating whether or not his intentions were true, before she broke into a small smile. “I’d been going with Captain Douche, but your way works too.”

The chuckle rumbled through his chest. “In that case, I’m Jeff Winger. It’s good to properly meet you…?”

“Annie,” the woman said, just as a patron signalled her from the other end of the bar. “I’d better get back to it.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Merry… not Christmas,” he added, amending his error at the last minute. ( _Real smooth_ ).

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back another smile. “Merry not Christmas to you too, Jeff,” she said lightly, walking away from him.

Returning to his disgruntled workmates, grumbling at him over their overdue alcohol, Jeff found himself in a sudden state of bewilderment. Not only had he tapped into one long-forgotten sentiment, another had suddenly filtered into view as well. 

_Authenticity_.

It was a not-Christmas miracle.

Jeff downed his scotch in one go.

It was also fucking terrifying.

He needed another drink.


	2. Chapter 2

The Ballroom had settled into its late afternoon lull when a woman burst through the door like a human tornado of blonde hair and leather. Annie paused midway through the supply checklist she was writing as the woman made her way over, untangling herself from her chunky knitted scarf with a lack of finesse.

Gary glanced up from counting the register. “You’re late,” he stated, his tone indicating he wasn’t the least bit surprised as the woman disappeared into the small office out the back to stow away some of her belongings.

“Geez, by like ten minutes,” the blonde replied, re-emerging with an apron and joining them at the bar. “I’m still operating on New York time. Cut me some slack.”

“Isn’t New York a couple of hours ahead?” Annie blurted out in confusion. “So really you would have been here early if…” she trailed off when she realized the straggler was throwing her a sour glare. “Nevermind,” Annie sheepishly replied, holding out her hand in offering. “You must be Britta! Gary’s told me… not all that much about you, but it’s nice to meet you anyway! I’m Annie.”

Her co-worker eyed her proffered hand suspiciously before taking it with a firm shake. “What happened to that other person you hired while I was gone?” Britta asked, turning around to gauge their boss. “Star… board?”

“Starburns?” said Gary, barely suppressing a sigh. “He tried to steal half the inventory on his first night. That’s what you get for owing a favor to a friend.”

“Joke’s on you, buddy. You only hired me because my brother…” Britta paused, clamping her mouth shut while Gary raised his eyebrows at her and retreated to the office. “Hey! _Jag_.”

Annie watched as Britta grabbed a shot glass from under the counter and filled it with tequila, before lifting it up to her mouth and gulping it back with a wince. “Welcome home,” Britta muttered to herself, holding out the bottle towards Annie. “Want one?”

“Oh! No thank you, I’m fine,” Annie stammered, smoothing her hands down the front of her apron. “I didn’t think we were allowed to drink on the job?”

“We’re not,” Britta replied with a smile, returning the alcohol to its rightful spot. “But if there’s one thing you should know about me, Annie, it’s that I like to live outside the law.”

“Perry!” Gary shouted from the back. “I can see your damn car through my window and you’re in the no parking zone again!”

“Crap!” Britta fumbled around her pockets for her keys. “I _cannot_ afford another fine right now.”

Hearing the keys clatter to the ground from Britta’s hasty movements, Annie bent down to retrieve them, picking up the bundle via a large photo keychain of a grey cat wearing a necktie. She glanced at it with a fond smile just as Britta yanked it out of her hand.

“That picture was already in there,” Britta said defensively, clutching the keys in her fist as she folded her arms across her chest.

Annie could hear the unspoken ‘call me a crazy cat lady I dare you’ tone in her voice and gave her colleague a warm smile. “That’s a shame,” she replied, “because I was going to compliment you on the cute choice of formalwear.”

Searching Annie’s face for any trace of mockery, Britta slowly unfolded her arms. “I found the necktie in a thrift shop,” she offered cautiously. “It was either that or a sailor outfit but Daniel’s afraid of the water so…”

“You definitely made the right choice,” said Annie. “And you’re so lucky to have a pet to come home to every night,” she added with a wistful smile. “One of my roommates is basically allergic to every form of animal on the planet – he broke out in hives over a Chia pet once. So that’s a no-go for me at the moment.”

“That’s too bad,” Britta said with a small smile. “Cats are the best. My brother keeps hassling me to put a photo of my nephew, Benji, in there instead but I’m like, ‘The kid’s only one, he doesn’t know any different’. Anyways,” she jerked her thumb behind her. “I gotta go move my car. You’ll be OK for five minutes?”

“Of course,” said Annie, gesturing her forward. She gathered her disbanded pen and paper, ducking her head to continue with her list. The one for the bar had already been completed, now she was on to her preliminary supply checklist for college. Her final semester didn’t start for another week but Annie already felt horribly disorganized – she didn’t even have her _textbooks_ yet. But what made things even worse was that a tiny part of her didn’t seem to care.

“What the hell is happening to me?” she muttered.

“Existential crisis on a Tuesday, huh? Things must be bad.” 

Jolting at the vocal intrusion, Annie lifted her head to find Jeff Winger looking back at her with a small smirk on his face.

He took a seat on one of the pleather stools. “Wanna talk about it?” he said playfully, resting his arms on the counter. “I know that’s not usually how this bartender/patron conversation works, but hey, it _is_ two-for-one-tequila-Tuesday so this day’s already off the charts.”

She returned his smile, twisting the pen between her fingers as she watched him loosen his red tie. “I don’t know, let’s not get too crazy here,” she joked, surprised at how pleased she was to see him again. The last time was on Christmas Eve when he’d given her a quick farewell wave before shoving his drunk, sleazy associate out the door (who had taken to singing dirty Christmas carols at the top of his lungs). 

“Are you sure? I mean, not to turn this around and make it about _me_ but you _would_ be saving me from more tedious shoptalk with work-bots one and two back there,” he said, angling his head in the direction of the booth against the far wall where two men in suits were sitting in silence, sharing a bowl of peanuts. “It’s sad when the snacks have more personality.”

“Then why do you come out to drink with them in the first place?” said Annie. 

Jeff shrugged. “Better that than becoming the creepy guy who drinks alone. Speaking of which, I should grab two beers and a Macallan neat while I’m here.”

Setting her paper and pen aside, Annie grabbed a few clean glasses and started pulling the first beer. “So, Jeff,” she began, affecting what she hoped was a carefree tone, “I haven’t seen you around here in a while. Were you on vacation or something?”

“Miss me did you?” he grinned, leaning his chin on top of his hand and chuckling when she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t make me regret this whole ‘starting over as friends’ thing,” she warned, a hint of a smile twitching the corner of her mouth. “Or I might just slip and ‘accidentally’ pour you the cheap whiskey.”

Jeff held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, hold your fire. I promise to behave.”

“Mom’s the word, huh?”

“Quite literally actually.” Jeff fiddled with the piece of paper in front of him. “I’ve been at my mother’s the past fortnight, doing my duty as the doting son.”

Annie didn’t miss the self-mocking in his voice, igniting a flare of curiosity in her. “That must have been nice,” she said, picking up the bottle of Macallan and unscrewing the lid. “Are you two close?”

He gave her a fraught smile. “On a good day,” he said, clearing his throat before picking up the paper he’d been curling the corners of. He scanned the neat cursive writing, groaning when he saw a particular name. “Oh God, is that _maniac_ still in the education system?” 

Annie blinked at him, confused by the rapid change in topic. “Sorry?”

“Ian Duncan,” Jeff clarified, tapping at the classes and professors Annie had jotted down earlier. “I’m assuming this very detailed list is yours?” He waited for her to nod. “Then in the interest of our fledgling friendship allow me to advise you to stay away from his class if you actually want to get a good grade.”

“Why?” said Annie, eyes wide as she set the three drinks in front of him. “I mean, I’ve always heard rumors around City College that he’s a bit of a booze hound but…”

“A bit?” Jeff snorted, taking his credit card out of his wallet. “Let’s just say I may or may not have once represented a certain British professor over a DUI who may or may not have been drunk throughout the entire hearing.”

“And you still won?” she said dubiously, taking his card and processing the payment before returning it to him.

He shrugged one shoulder, gathering the drinks between his hands. “Admittedly not one of my more credible moments, but it’s like the great Confucius says: You don’t make friends with salad.”

“OK, A,” Annie said with an amused snort, “that doesn’t even make sense. And B, you’re cribbing lines from The Simpsons.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s Confucius,” he replied, slipping off the barstool to stand up. “He coined ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’ too, right?” Jeff grinned at his companion’s dramatic exhale. “Keep the Duncan factor in mind won’t you,” he cautioned, before returning to his booth.

Annie smiled to herself, folding up her college list before tucking it into the pocket of her apron. She was wiping down the countertop when she noticed Britta sidle in beside her.

“So I see you’ve met Winger, Douche-At-Law,” said the blonde, cracking herself up at the diss.

“I don’t think he’s _that_ bad,” Annie replied, her smile dropping when Britta could only gape at her in disbelief. “What?”

“He’s a schmuck, Annie, trust me,” she said sagely. “All of those lawyer-types are.”

Annie tilted her head in consideration as she glanced over at Jeff, who was raptly texting on his phone while his colleagues tried to throw peanuts into each other’s mouths. “Maybe things aren’t that black and white,” she said quietly.

“I’ll bet you’ve always seen the glass half full, haven’t you?” said Britta, her query devoid of any snide undertones but more of honest incredulity. 

The woman moved away to serve a customer before Annie could respond, to which she was grateful for. She didn’t really know how to express to a virtual stranger that for a long time she’d felt she’d had no glass to measure life by at all.

* * *

A beautiful blonde woman was sitting across from Jeff at his favorite booth in his favorite bar, chatting animatedly and all he could think about was who the _fuck_ would name their kid Quendra. Granted the woman was also a potential client not a date, and the majority of the conversation was about her impending divorce, but still… _Quendra_. With a _Q_. Did she have Barbie and Quen dolls as a child? Did she recite the alphabet H, I, J, Q? Shit, did she just ask a question because she was staring at him…

“Sorry,” said Jeff, pressing pause on his Q-rage, “you were saying?”

Quendra drained the last of her soda water. “I just asked if you needed me to repeat anything because you weren’t taking a lot of notes.”

Jeff spared a look at his laptop screen where he’d typed a few sentences then something resembling a Shining-style mental breakdown:

**QUENDRA?!?!?QQQQQqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq???????**

“Nope, all good so far,” he said, infusing his smile with as much charm as he could garner. “So you both didn’t sign a pre-nup but you want to make sure everything gets split 50/50?”

“Or preferably 75/25,” she replied, tapping her manicured fingernails against the table. “Pat’s a lazy asshole.”

Frowning, Jeff looked at his notes then back at Quendra. “I thought your ex-partner’s name was Pete?” He saw a flicker of hesitation in her eyes before she let out a small apologetic giggle.

“It is – Peter Patrick, actually,” she clarified, tucking a long blonde curl behind her ear. “You know, like Spider-Man.”

“That’s not… Nevermind,” Jeff muttered, realizing now wasn’t the time to get invested in a debate about his favorite superhero. “And you said you’ve been separated for how long?”

“Um, around three months now?”

 _Separated five months_ , Jeff’s notes flashed back at him from the computer screen, causing a slight ripple of unease in his mind. He knew his attention had wandered somewhat during the conversation, but before that his notes were on point like they always were. Quendra-with-a-Q’s story was definitely sounding patchy. But why?

Jeff picked up their empty glasses and gave her a smile. “How about I get us another drink and you can tell me more about Peter Patrick. Say for instance is he prone to picking pecks of pickled peppers?”

Quendra slowly blinked at him. “No I think he’s allergic,” she answered hesitantly.

“Awesome. Back soon.” He nudged the lid of his laptop down before heading over to the bar where Annie was finishing up with a small group of people he recognized as workers from the local falafel restaurant due to his outstanding loyalty as a takeout tragic. 

The tall, skinny guy who always wore printed tees and blatantly watched movies behind the shop counter stood disconnected from his group, gazing at the pinball machine in the corner. He gave Jeff a slight nod when he passed by. “Mediterranean Falafel to go,” he said by way of greeting.

“I gotta change my routine,” he muttered, giving the man a tight smile in return before turning to Annie. “Milady,” he said, his smile easing into a more authentic version. “Another of the usual for me and a soda water for my client. I’d suggest throwing in some Kool-Aid but I think she’s already on that trip.”

Annie smiled at him, wrinkling her nose. “Did you just pronounce it ‘Quool-Aid’?”

“Remind me to fill you in after,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He watched as she paused mid-whiskey-pour, arching an eyebrow at him.

“OK, I think it’s finally my turn to test this question out.” She cleared her throat and fixed him with a pointed gaze. “Wanna talk about it?”

He cracked a smile. “Nice. It’s only taken, what, like six weeks?” Jeff teased.

“My generosity only lasts as long as this bar transaction,” she warned him with a smirk.

“Well in that case, what do you suggest I do if I think my client is acting dodgy?”

“Aren’t _all_ of your clients dodgy?”

“Hey! Objection, your honor.”

Annie laughed, filling Jeff’s glass with a touch more liquor than usual. “Then I’d probably say keep an eye on her and gather more proof.” She shrugged. “Then when her guard is down you can go in for the verbal kill.”

Jeff broke into a proud grin. “You may look mild-mannered but I’d bet you’d murder us all in The Hunger Games wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t even blink,” she retorted, giving him another smirk.

“Good to know.” He placed some cash on the counter. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a sec.”

“You should try out that Cinderella pick-up line again while you’re in there,” she said innocently. “I mean it went _super_ well last time.”

“Hey, you’ll be sorry when I come back with some handsome guy I met at the urinals.” Jeff cringed to himself, making a mental checklist as he walked away. _1\. Find time machine. 2. Return to the day you thought flirting about the place where you pee was a good idea and punch yourself in the goddamn face._

When he returned to the bar a few minutes later Annie was standing with his drinks, giving him an apprehensive look. “Everything OK?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside him. “I didn’t succeed with the bathroom date, so you don’t have to worry,” he added, his joke fading away when Annie didn’t respond.

She leaned in closer to him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I think you were right about that woman being dodgy.”

Jeff frowned, resisting the urge to glance back at his booth. “How so?”

Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “I saw her rifling through your briefcase while you were gone. She took a few photos on her phone of some documents.” Annie shook her head in distaste. “She nearly went for the laptop too but that’s when you came back.”

A flare of anger shot through Jeff’s chest. “That bastard,” he murmured. “I knew he was up to something.”

“Wait, back up a step,” said Annie, furrowing her eyebrows. “What bastard?”

Jeff breathed out a humorless laugh. “Alan Connor, otherwise known as the slimy, bald piece of shit who’s trying to undermine me at work and was oh-so-charming to you around Christmas.”

Annie made a noise of disgust. “Right. _That_ bastard.” She shook her head. “Why is he trying to undermine you?”

“He thinks he’s playing it cool but I’m not an idiot – he’s trying to take over my position at the firm.” Jeff chuckled darkly to himself. “I’ve got important client files in my briefcase he’s been trying to get his grubby mitts on all week, and now he’s hiring people to do his dirty work for him.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff,” said Annie, reaching out her hand to pat him on the arm before reconsidering and settling on a sympathetic smile instead. “But hey, at least you know now and you can do something about it?”

He nodded. “Thanks to you. I seriously owe you one, Annie.”

“No you don’t,” she replied, waving her hand around dismissively. “Think of it as payback for warning me about Professor Duncan. He ended up getting fired in the first week for showing up to class completely smashed.” Annie put her hand to her chest. “I definitely dodged a bullet there. He totally seemed like the type to only give out passing grades too,” she added with disgust. “I mean, what am I? A wild animal?”

Jeff fought back a smile. “Well I’m glad it all worked out. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, picking up his drinks, “I have to go and lawyer some information out of a woman with a terrible name.”

“Channel your inner Hunger Games,” said Annie, giving him a tiny fist pump of encouragement.

“I will,” he said. _Just not right now_ , he thought, feeling a crawling sensation thrum uncomfortably under his skin. He needed to save that energy for Alan and whatever the vile little prick had planned next.


	3. Chapter 3

Annie folded her arms across her chest and stared down the patron currently killing her with puppy dog eyes. “For the last time, Troy, you do _not_ want a piña colada.”

“How do you know I don’t want one?” he challenged, mimicking her crossed-arms stance. “Are you in my brain?” The smirk slid off his face as she raised a mischievous eyebrow his way. “… Wait, _are_ you? Because you need to quit if you are.” He darted his eyes away from her. “Especially if you see Jessica Rabbit teaching me yoga,” he murmured, shoving a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “That’s secret Troy time.”

“First of all, don’t touch those, I’m pretty sure they’ve been there since the 80s,” Annie replied, swatting his hands away from the bar snacks. She opened a small bag of pretzels for him and placed them on the counter. “And second of all, you only want a piña colada because the jukebox just brainwashed you into it.”

Troy bit into a pretzel. “Who _doesn’t_ want to get caught in the rain?” He gave a dreamy sigh. “Those cheating weirdos in the song had some legit ideas.”

“Those ‘cheating weirdos’ are pretty anti-yoga, so goodbye cartoon fantasies.”

“Piña coladas can _suck it_.”

“Exactly,” Annie agreed, picking up the bowl of peanuts to toss in the trash. “Now can I just get you a normal drink or are you going to continue to be painful?”

“I’m gonna be _delightful_ and have a seven and seven,” he grinned at her, throwing another pretzel into his mouth.

Rolling her eyes, Annie waved the peanut bowl at his face. “I should have just let you eat these but now I’ll have to settle on murdering you when we get home,” she said with a saccharine smile.

“I don’t know if I should be concerned overhearing this conversation or ecstatic about gaining a beautiful yet deadly new client,” Jeff’s voice rang out as he took a seat on the stool next to Troy. “Should we try the Velma Kelly defence in court?” he grinned at Annie, his smile faltering as he glanced away from her to the guy currently shooting the stink eye at him.

“Maybe Annie doesn’t want _any_ of Scooby Doo’s friends to defend her,” Troy said evenly, frowning at the guy in the three-piece suit.

Jeff quirked an eyebrow at him, loosening his striped tie. “I meant Velma from _Chicago_.”

Troy snorted at him. “Nice try, 007, but I think I know Velma’s from Crystal Cove.” He jerked a thumb in the man’s direction before turning back to Annie. “Is this Pierce Brosnan wannabe bothering you?”

“Hey!” Jeff protested, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit. “I gave my tailor a Daniel Craig photo reference.”

“Oh for the love of… you’re _both bothering me_ ,” Annie said loudly, slamming down the whiskey bottle she was holding. “It’s already been a long day so the last thing I need is my annoying housemate and my annoying…” she paused, floundering her hands around as she tried to settle on a label, “… _Jeff_ -mate acting like idiots. Or even bigger idiots as the case may be.” She put her hands on her hips. “Are we clear?”

“Super clear,” said Troy, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he swiveled his stool back around. “So _you’re_ Jeff,” he smirked, holding out his hand. “I’m Troy.”

Filing away his curiosity for another time at the glee in the man’s voice, Jeff clasped his hand and shook it. “The housemate who got his arm stuck in the toilet when he tried to fish out a pack of gummy bears?” he asked, glancing at Annie for further clarification but she had her head ducked down focusing on Troy’s drink.

“No, that’s our other roommate Garrett. He’s pretty much a giant mess.” Troy made a fist with his hand when Jeff dropped it, before blowing it up like a bomb. He looked disappointed when Jeff didn’t reciprocate. “Man, why does no one show some cool handshake respect anymore?”

“Just drink your fancy soda and be quiet,” said Annie in mock-exasperation, setting down a glass in front of Troy. She wiped down her hands on her apron and looked over at Jeff. “The usual for you I’m guessing?”

Jeff rested his arms on top of the counter. “What? I don’t qualify for a fancy soda?” he said with a grin. 

“You’re going to qualify for thirstiest guy at a bar if you don’t stop being annoying,” she retorted with her own condescending grin.

He chuckled, taking his wallet out of his back pocket. “Yeah, the usual, thanks.” Pulling out his credit card, Jeff propped it on the bar for when Annie was ready. “So how long have you guys known each other for?” he asked.

“Feels like forever,” Troy replied distractedly. “We met at…”

“Cooking school,” Annie suddenly blurted out, the slightest hint of pink staining her cheeks. “Just a regular pair of amateur chefs,” she added, forcing out a laugh. “Right, Troy?”

“Yeahhhh…” Troy slowly replied, trying to read something in his friend’s wild expression before smiling a little too brightly at Jeff. “Boy did we love us some cooking. We made pies and chicken and… pies…” he faltered, quickly shoving more pretzels into his mouth.

Annie slid Jeff’s drink in front of him and took his card, busying herself at the register. “But then we realized we had other dreams so we started on new careers.”

Jeff took his card back from Annie, knowing a bullshit cover story when he heard one, but also realizing that bullshit cover stories were usually in place for a reason. He threw her a friendly smile. “Which led you to… Hospital Admin, right?” She nodded at him. “I remember you saying this is your last semester. You’ve gotta be happy about that.”

“ _Chhhyeahhh_ ,” Annie replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Are you kidding me? Super happy.”

“What about you, Troy?” Jeff asked, taking a sip of his alcohol. “What do you do now you’re out of the pie trade?”

“I work in the sports store,” said Troy with a shrug, ripping small chunks out of his cardboard coaster. “It’s pretty dope I guess. I mean I always thought I’d be playing football once I got out of school,” he added, a wry smile flashing across his face at the memory. “But it turns out you need to not break your leg in lots of places for that to happen.” He picked up his drink and took a big gulp. “But yeah, I get to sell football stuff in the store so… It’s dope.”

Jeff took another sip of his drink in the wake of the grim atmosphere, intensely grateful when his phone started to ring in his pocket. Taking a look at the caller ID, a flicker of concern passed across his face before he stood up and gave an apologetic smile to Annie. “Sorry, gotta answer this.”

She watched as he moved off to a quieter part of the bar, catching the muted greeting of “ _Hi, mom_ ” before he retreated completely. Hearing her housemate exaggeratedly clear his throat, Annie fought the urge to roll her eyes as she turned to face him. “ _What_?”

“You never said your ‘Jeff-mate’ was so handsome,” Troy teased in a singsong voice, stirring his drink with his straw.

“Is he?” she said airily, cleaning some crumbs off the bar. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Troy’s expression suddenly morphed into something gentler. “I’m sorry I nearly put my foot in it before, too. _Both_ my feet. And my arms, probably.” He reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I know you don’t like to talk about that stuff. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s OK,” said Annie, giving him a rueful smile. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t come up with anything cooler than a cooking school.”

“Maybe next time it can be karate class?” His eyes lit up. “Ooh, or astronaut school! There’s so many things to learn.” Troy folded his hands under his chin, leaning towards her conspiringly. “Like, where _does_ all the space pee go?”

Before Annie could reply, there was an almighty crash near the jukebox where someone had thrown a chair into the screen. She went to hurry over but saw that Gary was already there trying to soothe an upset woman, who was clinging on to her oversized purse in shock at what she’d just done.

“It was the song,” the woman stammered, swaying unsteadily on her feet. “It was the same one playing when I saw them and I…” her voice began to waver. “I’m sorry, Gary. I’m so embarrassed.”

Gary put a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulders and led her towards the door. “It’s OK,” he said. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll just get you in a cab home, alright?”

Annie’s heart went out to the woman, who she now recognized from a few nights ago, holed up in a booth by herself crying into a steady flow of margaritas. She’d wanted to go and sit with her and check if she was OK but the bar had been so busy that she didn’t get a chance. 

“Alcohol makes people sad, huh?” Troy said quietly.

Annie gave him a despondent smile. “Sometimes it just brings out the sadness that’s already there.”

* * *

Cursing his idiocy at not bringing an umbrella with him, Jeff tugged up the collar of his coat while he stood at the crosswalk with the rain pelting down. He glowered at the smug cars speeding past, practically daring them to run through a puddle and soak him further. He’d already had a shit of a morning with Alan bringing in not one but two rich new clients, as well as another less-than-stellar phone call from his mother. So getting drenched in dirty street water on his lunch break would just be the shit icing on top of the fuck everything cake. Jeff walked briskly across the road as the traffic came to a standstill, making a beeline for the falafel restaurant where he’d phoned in an order. If he was going to go out in a blaze of miserable glory, he may as well stomp all over the diet too.

Opening the door, he brushed water off his clothing as best as he could before walking straight up to the counter where a worker was watching something on his phone. Jeff cleared his throat and the guy glanced up, pressing pause on the screen so he could pick up the takeaway bag next to him.

“Mediterranean falafel to go,” the guy greeted, handing over the bag without even asking.

“Please just call me Jeff,” he replied with a sigh, taking the food and slapping some bills into the guy’s hand in return. “Thanks…” he squinted at the nametag, pinned to a Star Wars t-shirt, that he’d never bothered to read before. “Inspector Spacetime?” Jeff finished with a confused look.

“For today anyway,” the man replied in a monotone fashion. “Usually it’s Abed, but sometimes it can be Kickpuncher,” he supplied, hiding his phone under the service counter when an older man approached them. “Hey, dad.”

“We need you in the kitchen,” the man said in a clipped tone, throwing Jeff an apologetic grimace as he glanced back at his son. “Please stop harassing the customers with your Spacepunch nonsense.”

Abed stared at a spot on the ground before turning to Jeff with a freakish imitation of a smile. “Thank you for your patronage,” he recited. “Have a falafel-tastic day.” He scurried off after his father leaving Jeff standing there in bewilderment.

“You too, Inspector,” Jeff murmured, turning on his heel to leave the shop just as a familiar face walked through the door, shaking out a wet jacket. “Annie?” he said, unable to keep his smile at bay.

She jolted on the spot, brushing a bedraggled strand of hair off her face. “Jeff?”

“I almost didn’t recognize you without the dim bar lighting,” he teased.

“Yeah, now you get to see me do my impersonation of a drowned rat instead,” she replied, swiping under her eyes for any smudged mascara. “ _Hooray_ ,” she cheered sarcastically. “What are you doing here?” she said, before screwing up her nose. “I mean, duh, of course you’re getting food. I just didn’t expect to see you _here_.”

Jeff titled his head, giving her a curious smile. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a smirk. “I guess I just thought lawyers ate at lavish restaurants where they feasted on caviar or steak or… their clients tears after they’ve paid their legal fees.”

“Nah, too many calories in tears,” he quipped, breaking out into another grin. “Do you need to order or…”

“No I rang about ten minutes ago so it should be ready soon,” she replied, folding her jacket over her arm. “I just didn’t expect the downpour when I left my apartment, hence the drowned rat phase.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows incredulously, nodding towards the window where the rain was still pelting down. “You didn’t notice that? I mean I’m pretty sure I saw Noah herding the last of the animals into an ark near the mall parking lot.”

“I’ve had my head stuck in the study books all day,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re probably the first thing I’ve noticed.” A light flush trailed across her face as she ducked her head.

“It’s my height,” he said nonchalantly, giving her an out. “People tend to flock to me like the Statue of Liberty.”

Annie lifted her head, grateful for his response. “Yeah, that’s gotta be it.” Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned to find someone approaching her with a takeaway bag.

“I don’t want to interrupt the meet cute but your food’s ready,” said Abed, passing Annie the large brown paper bag. 

“It’s not a…” Annie stammered, nearly dropping the cash she was handing over, just as Jeff hastily responded with a, “We’ve already met before, so…”

Abed considered both of them before nodding. “That’s good to hear, because as far as meet cutes go this was pretty lame. But you definitely have potential.” He heard his father yell out for him and contorted his face into another terrifying grin. “Have a falafel-tastic day,” he gritted out as he rushed back to the kitchen.

Annie gripped her takeout bag to her chest, huffing out a laugh. “Well, as far weird experiences go that definitely tops the list.” She chanced a look up at Jeff, who was still staring in the direction Abed had left in. “Maybe you _should_ have gone with caviar,” she joked.

Squaring his attention back to Annie, Jeff relaxed himself into a smile. “And miss out on life advice from a man calling himself Inspector Spacetime? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Annie chuckled, resting her food on a nearby chair so she could put her jacket back on. “Well I should probably head home and hit the books again. Or just set all my notes on fire and toast marshmallows in the flames of my crushed hopes and dreams,” she added, a note of panic in her voice.

Jeff cleared his throat. “It’s still pretty terrible outside,” he said lightly. “We could, uh, stay here and eat if you want?” He shrugged one shoulder. “I mean I enjoy a good ritualistic book-burning sacrifice too, but maybe if you had a proper break your urge to make study s’mores might decrease?”

“That actually sounds pretty good,” said Annie, matching Jeff’s smile with one of her own.

“It does?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, leading them over to an empty table. She took off her jacket once more and draped it over the back of the chair before sitting down. “So,” she began, waiting for him to sit across from her, “I’m sick of talking about me. How’s your day been?”

“Full of missed opportunities to punch Alan Connor in the face,” he replied, opening his bag with a weary sigh.

“You never did give me an update on that whole Shady McShaderson situation. Wanna talk about it?” she added, giving him a smirk.

He laughed at the familiar bar chat. “Sure, why not. Maybe we can devise a plan to kidnap him and send him away on the ark.”

“Maybe, but I mean Noah’s guidelines _are_ pretty strict,” Annie replied. “It might be hard to find another asshole big enough to match him up in a pair.” 

Jeff grinned at her. “Not that I want to encourage your arson streak, but that was a pretty spectacular burn.”

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “What can I say? I like to look out for my friends.”

Jeff pursed his lips together in thought. “Hmm,” he murmured, opening the lid of his plastic container.

“Hmm, what?” 

He glanced up at her. “I guess that makes me a real friend and not just a bar friend,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Annie’s mouth curled up at the corners. “I guess it does.”

“Good.”

She gave him a decisive nod. “Good.”


End file.
